


Dementors Within Us

by lumosnox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family, Boggarts, Child Abuse, Cutting, Dementors, Depression, Gen, Good Albus Dumbledore, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Mental Health Issues, Mentor Remus Lupin, Patronus, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 23:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15230892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosnox/pseuds/lumosnox
Summary: "Sometimes dementors are within us, too."It's third year, and the dementors are leaching the happiness from Harry. He's majorly depressed and to make matters worse, his boggart turned into Uncle Vernon in front of Professor Lupin.Harry gets by with the help of Remus and his friends.





	Dementors Within Us

**Author's Note:**

> TW: depression, self harm, suicide themes, child abuse

The feeling of falling was surreal. An ethereal feeling of weightlessness - it felt _good_ \- until he considered the cold, hard ground that was fast approaching. A tug at his gut, magic twisting inside of him, and he knew he would be safe.

The dementor had appeared out of nowhere, taking everything and leaving emptiness deep within his bones. He lost his grip on the broom and tumbled hundreds of feet. After the vacancy of the dementor, if he were being honest, he almost welcomed what he was certain would be a quick death upon his impact with the dirt. 

Harry had been saved by quick spellwork from Albus Dumbledore himself, a charm slowing his approach with the Earth. He’d still hit the mud hard - an ache in his bones present for the next week - but he at least woken up in the Hospital Wing instead of not at all. Later, he was told that the excitement of the quidditch match versus Hufflepuff was too much for the dementors to resist. They’d invaded, and naturally zeroed in on him because his unpleasant memories of life as an orphan and unwanted nephew far outweighed the good ones. Green light, the sting of a slap, and falling, falling, falling.

The next week in classes, he stayed after a class on grindylows. Professor Lupin was approachable and had been the chocolate savior on the Hogwarts Express. He clearly knew how how to defeat dementors - and Harry had to know how.

  
It wasn’t the teasing, the jaunting words, or Draco Malfoy’s sly smile as he mimed Harry passing out that made him so determined to defeat the guards of Azkaban. The cruel words, smirks, and bullying he could handle. It was what happened inside of his head when he was too close to the foul creatures - his mother’s screaming, flashes of green light; the last moments of his parents’ lives. The last few good moments of his own. He couldn’t take it, and it felt like the emptiness that the dementors brought was finding a home within his bones. With every encounter it felt like he was falling deeper into a hole that was so, _so_ hard to pull himself free from.

“What can I do for you, Harry?” Lupin had said with a smile when he saw Harry lingering after class.

Harry fidgeted with his backpack before looking up at Lupin and answering, “I want to know how to fight the dementors.”

Remus’ hand had paused on the papers he had been shuffling. “The magic is very advanced, Harry. The charm isn’t taught in the Hogwarts curriculum.”

 “I don’t care how difficult it is,” Harry had answered quietly, “I have to know how to do it.”

“You’ve had a hard time with the dementors from the start. I can understand why you want to learn the Patronus charm. It’s not easy.”

 Harry looked back at Lupin with a steely expression.   “I don’t care. I want to learn it.”

Remus looked Harry in the eyes, thinking of his best friends, and said, “Okay. Let’s meet on Thursday at 6pm and go from there.”

Harry grinned, hopeful that soon the deep emptiness within him would be eradicated.

“Thanks, Professor Lupin,” he replied, and turned and left for lunch in the Great Hall.

 

* * *

 

Six PM on Thursday didn’t come quickly enough for Harry.

While the dementors were only on the edge of the castle’s borders, the coolness of their presence was so pervasive to him. Hermione, Ron, and the rest of his classmates seemed to carry on without feeling like the world was a cruel, empty, and desolate place.

For Harry, it all felt like _nothing._

Gryffindor won at Quidditch. He caught the snitch. Hermione won Gryffindor 20 points in Transfiguration for a complicated correct answer. Draco split his schoolbag with a curse. The anniversary of his parents’ death came and went.

 But- he felt nothing. 

At night, he was tormented by nightmares of a life in a cupboard, the heavy hand of his uncle, the feeling of endless hunger, the brutal murder of his parents.

Tuesday night he woke up from one of his nightmares abruptly. Panting and sweating, he’d shot up in bed, looking around wildly for a threat but finding none. He then gave a second glance, making sure that he hadn’t woken one of his roommates. Satisfied with Neville’s snoring and the stillness of the room, he’d grabbed his toiletry bag and slipped into the boy’s bathroom.

In the fluorescent light, Harry stared at his reflection. He looked okay, but if we really started into his eyes he saw the emptiness that the feelings of worthlessness and lack of sleep were hiding there.

Desperate to feel something, _anything,_ after another night of hopelessness and the worst parts of his life replayed, he dug through his toiletries bag.

In the white light of the Gryffindor third year boys bathroom, he pulled out his shaving razor. He was much too young to have to shave, but the third year boys had thought they would be cool to have after seeing some sixth years shaving. None of them even had stubble, but they were all yearning to grow up, weren’t they?

 Staring blankly at the blue handle and glinting blade, he dropped it to the floor.

  
And stomped on it.

And picked up the freed blade

And dragged it across the skin of his ankle, where no one would see it

And breathed a sigh of relief as he felt something for the first time in weeks.

 

 

* * *

 

  

“Hello, Professor Lupin,” Harry greeted the weathered professor on Thursday evening.

The professor had been waiting for him by his desk, and greeted him with a smile.

“Hello, Harry! I’ve been looking forward to our lesson.”

Harry grinned and walked further into the classroom, the shuffle of his feet purposefully bringing a slight sting to the cuts on his left ankle.

He smiled, “Me too, Professor.”

Lupin laid his hands on the books on his desk and explained, “I have found a boggart in the staff room again. I know you weren’t able to face the boggart in class a few weeks ago-”

“Why not?” Harry interrupted.

Lupin paused and answered quietly, “I was worried that it would take the form of Lord Voldemort.”

“No,” Harry said, “I doubt it. I’ve dealt with him enough to not be afraid of him.”

Lupin eyed him critically, before answering, “Okay. Well considering your recent experiences with dementors, I’m hopeful this boggart will transform into a dementor so we have something to practice with.”

Harry felt unsteady. He had no idea what his boggart would be. He had enough horror and fear in his life for a small city of boggarts, he was fairly certain.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, “I’m not sure what form the boggart will take.” He kicked the edge of desk slightly.

Lupin walked towards an old chest and said, “Well, let’s find out, shall we?”

He clicked open the chest.

It looked like mist for a second, before it materialized. Not into a dementor, after all.

It was Uncle Vernon.

And he was pulling his belt free from the loops of his pants.

Harry cringed and cowered.

Uncle Vernon wasn’t his biggest fear because the belt hurt, or because hunger burned, or because the cupboard was dusty and lonely. Uncle Vernon was his biggest fear because he spoke Harry’s biggest fears aloud and drilled them into his head.

_You’re a freak. You’re worthless. No one loves you. Your parents died in a drunken car crash. You are a burden and you are useless._

Everyone in the classroom was still until the reincarnation of Uncle Vernon lashed out with the belt with a yell of, “You worthless freak!”

Lupin jumped in front of him and the large form of Vernon turned into a moon that quickly deflated and returned to the trunk with a slow hiss.

Harry was heaving with his hands on his knees. He was afraid to look up and face his teacher. He had no idea how he was going to get out of this one.

“Harry,” Lupin said. “Harry, look at me.”

“I guess it wasn’t a dementor,” Harry muttered as he lifted his head.

“No,” Lupin began, “It wasn’t.”

Harry’s heart was thudding in his chest. He could feel the anxiety rattling within him; his hands were prickly with numbness as he lifted his eyes to meet his Professor’s gaze.

Lupin’s eyes looked heavy with sadness, and perhaps a tinge of regret. He smoothed out his patched old jacket and gestured to the step in the middle of the room.

“Let’s sit.”

Harry didn’t want to sit and talk about his terrible uncle and miserable childhood. These were topics best left alone. Nothing was going to change what sometimes happened in that cookie counter house. Harry just did not have it in him to face this demon right now.

His mind was jumbled as he walked over and sat down next to his professor. Too much was happening. The apathy blended in with just a tug of sadness, of desire for a family that cared for him. He preferred not to think about the Dursley’s while at Hogwarts. It had been two months since he’d been at Privet Drive. Any bruises or welts were long gone, and with their healing he tried to leave the Dursley’s in the very back of his mind.

Harry bent over to fix his shoe, but auspiciously scratched at the outside of his left sock with a vigor, which agitated the injuries beneath.   He felt something within him shift to a center and turned his head to look at Lupin as he dropped his hands to his sides.

“What happened there, Harry?” Lupin looked concerned. Anxious.

“You saw,” Harry replied, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry expected a fight. He felt like a contained mountain lion; all he wanted was to make a run for it. One of his biggest shames revealed by a bloody boggart.

To his surprise, Lupin replied, “Okay. We don’t have to talk about it right now,” Harry gave him a small smile. “One thing, though, before you go.”

 Harry’s smile faded as he watched Lupin get up to get something. He crossed his arms across his chest closely, making himself as small as possible.

Lupin walked over to face him and Harry stood up to meet him.

Remus handed him a piece of chocolate and said, “Sometimes dementors are within us, too.”

 

 

* * *

 

  

Harry tripped on the last stair of the astronomy tower. He fell with a loud crash and skidded to a stop on his hands and knees. The sky was clear above him. The cool air hit him like a refreshing wave.

He leaned back onto his haunches and stared upward at the sky. Picturing his mom and dad up there somewhere, watching him. But he knew they weren’t. If they were watching and keeping an eye on him, he liked to imagine the Dursley’s would’ve been struck down by lightening the first time they locked him in the cupboard.

He got up slowly and walked to the edge of the tower. Peering over the edge, he took in the long drop, muttering, “Sometimes dementors are within us, too.”

Falling, he knew, felt cathartic. It was the hitting the ground that was the problem. Harry would be lying if he said he wasn’t considering the jump and it’s freedom.

He couldn’t do it.

The wizarding world was counting on him to defeat Lord Voldemort. He felt completely and utterly lost in his head and in the world, but the guilt of leaving them to the darkness because he couldn’t face his own kept his feet on the ground.

Instead, he fished a new quill from his bag and scratched his ankle with the tip until he drew blood.

Sitting for a few minutes breathing in the fresh air, he felt calm settle within him.

Ten minutes later, he steeled his features and started climbing down to Gryffindor tower.

 

 

* * *

 

  

Remus Lupin had watched his door shut behind the 13 year old that Thursday night before hastily erecting a silencing charm and _screaming._ He _howled_ at what Harry’s boggart had revealed.

  
The wolf inside of him was desperate to avenge the boy, was itching to go find who Lupin was sure was his Uncle and tear him limb from limb.

James’ son. Lily’s son. Growing up, he’d seen Lily in tears over fights with her sister, but he had never imagined that Petunia would allow Harry to be hurt.

Rage simmering, Lupin stalked around his classroom. He picked up a leftover ink jar and threw it at the wall, feeling satisfied when it exploded into a million tiny pieces.

Beyond the obvious physical abuse, Remus had seen Harry flinch at his Uncle’s epithets. He’d caught the vacant stare, the set jaw, the horrible pain that flickered in his green eyes.

Harry was suffering. And _hell_ he had reason. It seemed like every time Remus turned around some other horrible part of Harry’s life revealed itself. His _guardians,_ the Chamber of Secrets, his parents’ murders, facing Lord Voldemort for the Philosopher’s Stone, his complete undoing around dementors.

Lupin wasn’t usually one for dramatics, but he couldn’t help but fall to his knees and pull at his hair as his screams turned to sobs.

How could he fix this? How could he possibly help a boy - his best friends’ boy - who was this troubled? And he let him leave his sight! How could he have been so trusting, so mindless?

Remus sprung up from the floor and ran to his desk, penning a quick letter. He then dipped into his quarters and returned with a vial. He tied the note to the vial before summoning a house elf for prompt delivery.

As the elf and package disappeared, Remus reached for his small stash of firewhiskey. This night certainly called for a nightcap.

  

 

* * *

 

 

When Harry tiptoed into the third year boys dorm and climbed into bed, his knee hit something hard. Jumping to the side, he picked up a vial with a blue potion inside. Tied to the top was a note, which read:

_Harry -_

_I understand tonight was not easy for you. I did not want to stress you any further by interrogating you about what is clearly a painful subject. You are not alone, Harry, though I am sure it feels that way. You can speak with me anytime, about anything. Please write “OK” on this parchment, it is charmed so I will know that you have written it. I would just like to know that you are okay and safely in bed._

_I have attached this note to a small vial of dreamless sleep potion. Please drink half of the vial, and the other half is yours to keep._

_I would like to continue to meet with you regarding your patronus. We will find another way to have practical exercises, since clearly your boggart is not a dementor. Please meet me at 6pm on Tuesday in my classroom._

_Sleep well,_

_Professor Lupin_

Harry stared at the parchment, unsure what to make of it. Clearly Lupin wanted to talk more about his boggart, but was trying to maintain a respectful distance. Harry almost cried in relief at the potion. It had been weeks since he had slept through the night. The bags under his eyes were omnipresent, and it felt like he was living in a haze of exhaustion.

He immediately tipped the potion back, it tasted warm and comforting. As soon as he swallowed he realized he hadn’t written on the parchment, and scrambled for a quill. He managed to write a sloppy “OK” below Lupin’s paragraph before passing out into his pillow.

 

 

* * *

 

  

After waking up refreshed for the first time in a long while, Harry felt bright for approximately ten minutes before darkness settled onto him once again.

 Everything felt so pointless.

He played chess with Ron, and forced a congenial smile when he lost badly (again).   He did homework with Hermione, and mumbled one word responses to her chatting about the Potions assignment. He nibbled on small amounts of food at every meal.

Sleep had helped some, but he didn’t feel better because there was no better. Everything was flat.

 The weekend passed quickly in no sleep, a haze of small smiles to assure his friends that everything was fine, and a few new pale red lines on his ankle.

 

  

* * *

 

 

On Monday morning, Hermione was chatting animatedly with him after Defense Against the Dark Arts. The three of them were walking slowly towards lunch, heavy bags flung over the shoulders.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione said excitedly, “Didn’t you meet with Professor Lupin on Thursday?” She looked around nervously, “Did he teach you the Patronus charm?” she finished under her breath.

“Um,” Harry began, “It’s pretty difficult and will take a long time to learn.”

“Oh I know, I’ve read all about it! It seems quite complicated and is so tied to your happiest memories. Did you pick a memory?”

Harry stumbled. He and Professor Lupin hadn’t gotten that far. Truthfully, they’d been quite distracted by his not-dementor boggart and hadn’t even talked about the spell itself. His happiest memory? He was never going to learn this spell!

“Uh, no,” he answered.

“That’s wicked cool!” Ron chimed it.

“What do you think you’re going to use?” Hermione questioned.

“I’m not sure,” Harry replied. He didn’t think he had anything to use. His body felt like a cavernous hollow.

“Oh! How did you practice? He didn’t bring a dementor inside the school did he?” Hermione asked excitedly.

“I didn’t practice,” Harry deadpanned. “I told you I don’t even know the spell.”

“But still...” Hermione needled, shifting her obscenely large bag to her other side.

“He didn’t bring a dementor in,” Harry said, “He found a boggart.”

“Oh! How brilliant! Your boggart is a dementor then?”

“It wasn’t,” he replied, “Hence why we didn’t talk about the charm at all.”

Ron cut in, “What was it mate? We didn’t get to see yours in class.”

Harry was certainly not going to tell the truth. He couldn’t believe he had even told them this much.

“It was Lord Voldemort,” he lied smoothly, “and a flash of green light,” he added for flourish.

“That’s creepy, mate,” Ron supplied. Hermione hit him on the shoulder.

“Sorry, Harry, that must have been scary,” she said.

Harry shrugged. “I actually have to catch up on the transfiguration assignment. I’m really behind,” he lied again. “I’m going to skip lunch, I’ll see you guys later.”

As he walked away, he knew Hermione and Ron were sharing a worried glance. He’d been begging off spending too much time with them, and he knew Ron heard him moving about in the middle of the night sometimes.

Hermione was ever busy, taking so many classes Harry wasn’t sure how she did it. Ron was Ron, a steady presence. Even though they were right there, Harry missed them. Spending time with them felt barren nowadays. Nothing felt the same anymore.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry knocked on Lupin’s door with trepidation on Tuesday night. Now that he knew what was required by the Patronus, he knew he would be utterly hopeless at it.

“Come in, Harry!”

He entered and found Lupin sitting twirling his wand, feet on the desk. Lupin smiled at him in greeting.

“How have you been since our last lesson, Harry?”

Taking a few more steps into the room, Harry said quietly, “Um, I’ve been better, but I’m okay.”

 Lupin sprung up from his desk and came over to stand near him.

 “No more boggarts,” he assured. “Today I wanted to review the spell with you and perhaps make a few attempts.”

 “Hermione said it requires your happiest memory,” Harry began as he dropped his bag near the student desks, which were pushed to the left side of the room. “What if my happiest memory isn’t strong enough?”

 What he really was trying to ask was, “What if I don’t have a happy memory?” but that felt a bit dark to ask a professor, even for him.

 Lupin looked at him with a flash of concern, but pushed on, “I am certain we can work together to find a memory that will suit the spell.”

  
Stepping to the center of the cleared space, he said “I am going to demonstrate for you.”

With a powerfully voiced “Expecto patronum!” a bright wolf leapt into the room and ran around the perimeter. Harry felt a true smile tug at his mouth for the first time in weeks.

“Wow! That is so cool! What do you think mine will be?”

 Lupin drew his wolf close to him and looked at it with a mixture of love and discomfort before flicking it away with his wand.

“I’m not sure, Harry. There is only one way to find out.”

Harry nodded, swallowing audibly.

“Teach me,” he said.

The Professor set about explaining the charm, demonstrating the wand movement and helping Harry practice the incantation.

“Now, Harry, the most difficult part is picking a happy memory. You don’t just pick it. You need to feel it, let the moment fill your body and flow into the spell." 

Harry gave a slight nod and lifted his wand.

“Expecto patronum!” he yelled, letting the memory of hugging Hermione with Ron after she was unpetrified last year replay in his mind.

Not even a wisp of smoke entered the room.

Failure crashed over him and he dropped his wand hand and his eyes.

“I can’t do it,” he mumbled.

“Harry, this is very advanced spellwork. I don’t think anyone has gotten it on the first try.”

Harry shook he head. Lupin wasn’t understanding. Quietly he asked, “What if I don’t have a happy memory?”

Harry was still staring at the ground. Lupin pursed his lips, anger on behalf of this boy burning his lips.

“Harry, look at me.”

Harry looked up and met his eyes. The pain there was deafening to Remus.

“We will work together until we find a memory for you, and if that fails, we will make you a memory happy enough." 

Lupin reached to put a hand on Harry shoulder, but pulled back like he’d been scalded when the teenager flinched away.

 “Let’s have some tea,” the professor said, snapping his fingers and requesting a tea tray from a house elf.

Harry wandered over to the step he and the Professor had sat on last week and sat down heavily. “How do you like your tea?” Lupin called from across the room.

“Two sugars, no milk,” Harry replied halfheartedly. The Professor walked over and handed him his tea before sitting down next to him.

Both were quiet for a few minutes as they drank pensively. Harry, trying to avoid the upcoming conversation, and Remus not sure what to say to make any of this better.

Deciding to jump right into the heart of it, he asked, “Was that man who was your boggart your Uncle?”

Harry looked at him quickly. Turning his eyes back to the ground, he asked, “Was your Patronus a wolf because you’re a werewolf?”

Remus almost dropped his tea. Instead it tilted and spilled hot tea onto his fingers. Setting the cup down on the ground, he dried his fingers on his pants before looking at his student critically.

“What makes you think that?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s Hermione’s idea. You miss classes around the full moon and look ill around then. I don’t care if you are, you know, for the record.”

 “Yes,” Professor Lupin replied. Harry looked up, stunned that the teacher had answered him honestly. “I was bitten as a child. It is an illness I have lived with much of my life. I ask that you do not tell your friends, Harry. Werewolves are not trusted in Wizarding society.”

Harry set his tea down next to the professors and started picking at his fingernails. “I won’t tell. I promise.”

 Continuing with a deep breath, Harry said “Yes, that boggart was my Uncle.”

Lupin rested his elbows on his knees as he stared into the vacant classroom. He was out of his depth with this conversation. But if Harry was willing to talk to him, then he was going to be there for him.

“Did he hit you often?”

 “Not really. I had to really mess up to get, um, the belt like that.” Lupins hand on Harry’s hand stilled him from picking his fingers.

“You’re bleeding, Harry. Let me see your hands.”

Lupin’s grip was calm and strong as he inspected the ruined cuticles on Harry’s hands. A warm wash of magic cleared away the blood.

 “You know that nobody should ever hurt you or any other child like that,” Lupin continued, Harry’s hand still in his.

Harry, feeling trapped, ripped his hand away.   Hurt flashed briefly on Lupin’s features.

Standing up, Harry ground out, “I know. But I have nowhere to go. I’ll see you next week.” With one last piercing look, Harry left the classroom.

 

 

* * *

 

 

As the days got shorter, Harry’s world, too, got darker. Weeks had passed, and he and Lupin had not spoken of his Uncle again. His Patronus was nonexistent. He was losing weight - he just wasn’t hungry anymore. Harry thought this might be what dying felt like.

The cutting was becoming almost daily. In a world that felt like a void, the bright red lines of blood were the only things that helped him feel anything at all. It was getting more difficult to pretend smile with his friends, and he found himself cocooned in his bed during his free time. The outside world was just too heavy nowadays.

On one Friday night, Ron and Hermione had ripped the curtains of his bed apart.

“Harry!” Ron had said. “You can’t stay in bed forever!”

Climbing onto his bed near his feet, Hermione said, “Harry, we are very worried about you. Are you okay?”

 “I’m fine,” Harry said, staring at this canopy.

“No, you aren’t, you liar!” Ron exclaimed. “You never leave your bed except for classes! You’re skin and bones and you just look so bloody depressed. What’s wrong?”

Shooting Ron a withering look, Hermione continued, “You haven’t been yourself. We love you and want to help you. Please let us help you.”

Harry looked at her, eyes heavy with sadness.

 “I don’t even know what I need,” he replied quietly. “I just feel like there are dementors near me all the time.”

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Harry. I’m so sorry it’s taken us this long to come to you.” She leaned over and pulled him into a hug.

“Mate,” Ron said, “You know I’ll help you with anything, and so will Hermione.” Ron looked uncertain, but climbed into Harry’s twin bed with Hermione. They shut the curtains and laid together.

The warmth of their bodies felt like the first warm thing in his life in almost two months.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said quietly.

 “Me either, but I’ll be with you every step of the way,” Ron replied, nudging Harry with an elbow and giving him a smile.

Hermione gave a small smile at her two best friends.

“Harry, it sounds like you are really depressed. It is a serious illness to be feeling this way for as long as you have. It’s caused by a low amount of a chemical in the brain called serotonin.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “I didn’t know it was a thing.”

Hermione grabbed his hand, “It _is_ a thing and we’re going to get you help.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “Anything we can do.”

“What about Professor Lupin?” Hermione inquired.

“What about him?”

“You seem to really get on with him,” she said. “He could be a good person to help with this.”

 Harry sat up on his elbows and peered down at her.

 “What do you mean, help with this? I don’t need more help. I have you guys.”

Hermione gave him a watery smile and said, “And you will always have us. But you need professional help. Like a healer, for the mind. Someone to help you medically. Ron and I can’t do that. And you need an adult who will listen to you.”

 Harry made a contemplative sound and laid back down. Arms now behind his head, he said, “What if I don’t want anyone’s help? And I don’t want people knowing my business?”

Giving him a stern look, she replied, “You need help. You’re skin and bones and Ron and I can barely sleep we’re so worried about you.” She cast a quick tempus: 6:09pm.

“Actually, we’re going to walk you down to Professor Lupin right now,” she said, matter-of-factly as she pushed both boys out of the bed.

“What!” Harry exclaimed as he hit the floor, Ron landing on top of him.

“Yep,” she said, flinging shoes at them, “Let’s go!”

As they were walking to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, every time Harry slowed in indecision, Hermione or Ron poked him in the back. He was shuffling his feet as they reached the door. Skin pulled taught in worry, Hermione knocked on the door.

“Hello Harry, Ron, Hermione,” Lupin greeted when he pulled open the door. It was a week since the last full moon, and he was looking better.

 “Hi, Professor, can we come in?” Hermione asked.

 “Of course,” he said, gesturing grandly into the classroom.

 “Well, um,” Hermione started, shifting from foot to foot. Harry looked at Lupin, appearing strained. “Harry seems to like you, and Ron and I have been really worried about him because he’s been so depressed, and we think he should talk to you and you should get him some help.”

She smiled at Harry and patted him on the shoulder. Ron pulled him into a one armed hug.

“We’re going to get going,” Ron said. “Give you guys some time to talk.”

They moved to the door, and with one last reassuring smile they were gone.

“I just-” Harry started, moving towards the door. Lupin held up a hand.

“I know you don’t want to be here right now. Let’s take a walk.”

Harry, grateful for the distraction and ability to get moving, nodded and headed again for the door. Lupin waved his wand and extinguished the lights in the classroom before following him. They walked in silence, Lupin leading, until Harry realized where they were going. He stopped.

“Is there a problem, Harry?” Lupin asked.

“Why are we going to the astronomy tower?” He asked, nervously running his hand through his hair.

“I find it’s easier to talk with some fresh air and a nice view,” Lupin answered before he started walking up the stairs again.

Harry reluctantly followed, fingers clammy on the bannister. The astronomy tower was where he came when he was feeling his absolute worst. It was morbid, but he liked knowing that it could all be over in two seconds up there. He liked to have the option to end it all so close by. He wondered if Lupin knew that.

 The wind blew his hair around as he stepped into the tower and saw Lupin standing along the side overlooking the black lake.

 He started when Lupin said, “I used to come up here with your father sometimes.”

 Harry’s jaw dropped. “You knew my dad?”

“Yes,” Lupin said, smiling fondly. “And your mother. They were some of my best friends.”

Harry was quiet for a moment. He whispered, “I wish I had been able to know them.”

“Oh Harry, me too,” Remus said gently. “They would be so proud of you.”

“No, they wouldn’t be,” Harry ground out. “I can’t even find a memory happy enough for a stupid Patronus charm.”

“You have been through so much,” Lupin said, looking at him. “I knew your parents so very well. I played with you as a baby. They loved you _so_ much. They would be incredibly proud of everything you have overcome.”

Harry continued to stare at the lake, hoping for a glimpse of the giant squid as tears prickled behind his eyes.

“I wish more than anything that they had not died and you had been able to grow up with them, loved and cared for. I wish I had known what was going on, so I could have made sure you were okay. I wish I wasn’t a werewolf, so I could have raised you myself.”

Harry looked at him, fighting tears.

“Well, wishing doesn’t do anything,” he said stoically.

“I know,” Lupin said sadly. “There’s nothing I can do that could change all the wrong that has happened in your life.”

Harry didn’t reply, continuing to search the lake for the squid and the forest for centaurs.

“Have you ever thought about jumping off this tower?”

Harry’s head whipped around at Lupin’s question. Now was his time to choose: honesty or not? But the face of his parents’ best friend was sincere, and Harry was exhausted from being alone.

“Yes,” he answered quietly.

“How much?” Lupin answered in a heavy voice.

“Almost every day for two months,” Harry replied warily.

 “Have you hurt yourself, or tried to?”

Harry was silent, the slices on his ankles (he had expanded to the right one as he had run out of canvas on the left) burning an answer.

After a minute of silence, Remus inquired softly, “Harry?”

Gritting his teeth, Harry made the decision and lifted his left foot to the edge of the tower. He yanked his pant leg up and sock down and exposed tens of cuts, some white scars and some bright and fresh.

His professor looked like he wanted to cry as he looked at the truth, at the god awful truth of how awful Harry had been fairing. At the darkness within him laid out for the world to see. At how terribly he had failed Harry - he had been with him for almost two months in private sessions and hadn’t seen just how close to the edge the boy was.

Harry pulled his sock back up and dropped his leg to the ground. He rested his elbows on the edge of the tower, chin in his hands, and looked over the grounds. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry I didn’t see how badly you were hurting.”

Harry shrugged in response.

 “When did you last cut yourself?”

 “Last night,” Harry said, a crack in his voice.

 “You can’t do that anymore,” Lupin said. “You aren’t alone now. If you feel like reaching for something sharp, I want you to come find me, or Hermione, or Ron immediately. We all love you and want you to be safe.”

Harry didn’t reply.

 “Harry, do you agree to find someone if you feel like hurting yourself?”

 “Yes,” he said, looking Lupin in the eye, finally.

“I feel so empty all of the time,” he said quietly, “But I want to feel better. I don’t want to die.”

Lupin opened his arms and Harry went to him, tears starting to run down his cheeks. Remus wrapped him in a warm embrace and Harry cried two months worth of tears into his Professor’s chest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A few days later found Harry staring emptily at his canopy. He couldn’t sleep, and darkness swam in his mind. Every time he closed his eyes he saw himself jumping from the astronomy tower, or dragging a razor up his arm in Myrtle’s bathroom.

His heart thudded and he heard it crying out, “Don’t think this way, don’t let me die!” He had promised to find someone if he felt like this but the act of doing that felt so incredibly difficult.

But, he did it. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and put one foot in front of the other and padded over to Ron’s bed. He opened the curtain and Ron was fast asleep, drool coming from his mouth. Harry shook him awake and Ron’s blue eyes flashed open. 

“Harry?” He said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

 “I don’t feel well,” Harry whispered.

“Oh,” Ron replied, “Do you want me to get Madame Pomfrey?”

“No, like, in here,” Harry said, tapping his finger to his temple.

“Oh,” Ron said, swinging he legs over the edge of his bed and into his slippers. “A game of chess then?”

Harry nodded and the two padded down the stairs into the dark common room. They had the whole room to themselves.

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled, “We can’t get up the stairs to wake Hermione up and she’d probably be more helpful.”

“No,” Harry answered, “It’s okay. I want to spend time with you.”

Ron nodded and gave him a small smile, before leading Harry to the chess board and starting to set up the pieces.

“If you want to talk, we can,” Ron started, “And if you don’t want to, we can do that too.”

“Thanks,” Harry said quietly as he moved a pawn.

The game passed in silence before Harry surprised himself and broke it. 

“My boggart wasn’t Lord Voldemort.”

Ron looked up at him quickly, but Harry remained staring at the game.

Ron moved a bishop and asked, “Really? What was it?”

 Harry continued to stare at the game as he said, “It was my Uncle Vernon about to beat me with his belt.”

Ron’s jaw dropped. “ _What?”_

“Yup.”

 “I knew the Dursley’s treated you like dirt, but I didn’t know they hurt you! I’ll kill them!” Ron said angrily, trying to refrain from yelling.

“You don’t need to kill them,” Harry said with a wry smile, “But yeah, they aren’t great.”

 “You can’t go back there!” Ron replied tensely, setting the knight down with so much force it knocked over the nearby pieces.

“You know I have to. I always have to.”

 “No,” Ron said. “Just no, Harry. Never again.”

 

  

* * *

 

  

Harry was laying on the couch of the Gryffindor common room with his head in Hermione’s lap while she read. She was absently playing with his hair in a comforting manner while he closed his eyes. He’d started seeing a mind-healer, and the anti-depressant potions were making him very sleepy.

Hermione set down her book.

 “Hey Harry?”

“Hmmm?” he murmured.

“I’m glad you’re still here.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ron, Remus, and later Hermione had begged Harry for nearly two weeks to go to Dumbledore about the Dursley’s abuse. At first, he’d been steadfast in his denial, determined to not let anyone else into the most private portions of his life.

Finally, Remus had quietly said over tea that he would have to tell Dumbledore eventually because he wanted Harry to be safe, but he wanted Harry to tell him on his own terms.

The next day Harry had accompanied Remus to the Headmaster’s Office. Harry felt like a leaden block was at home in his abdomen. He hadn’t told Remus, but he had asked Dumbledore to stay in the castle for the summer the past two years and he’d been denied.

Harry was a mess of nerves and emotions, but he welcomed it. It seemed that finally the emptiness that had found home within him was being filled, little by little.

Next to the gargoyle, Harry had frozen. Professor Lupin had laid a reassuring hand on Harry’s shoulder and said quietly, “I’ll be here the whole time.”

“I don’t want to go in.”

“I believe in you, Harry. And you won’t be alone.”

Lupin hesitated before saying, “I wasn’t sure how you would feel about this, but I brought the boggart from our first lesson. Sometimes it can be easier to show than to say. And I want you to defeat the boggart, if you wanted to.”

At first, Harry’s mind was screaming, “Absolutely not!” He didn’t want to see a belt-weilding Vernon while he was safely enconssanced at Hogwarts. However, it could be easier to show Dumbledore and then he would have to believe him.

It took a moment, but Harry finally said, “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Acid pops,” Lupin said confidently, and they were on their way up to see Albus Dumbledore.

 “My boys!” the wizened old headmaster greeted them. “What brings you here today?”

Harry was sweating and Lupin squeezed his shoulder. Nearby, Fawkes trilled a sad, longing note.

 Harry didn’t say anything, so Lupin began. “Harry and I started Patronus charm lessons around two months ago. At our first lesson, I discovered something when using a boggart with Harry. We have decided it’s easier to show you than to tell you.”

Dumbledore looked thoughtful, and then motioned with his hand for Lupin to continue. Remus pulled out the chest from his pocket, set it on the floor, and enlarged it.

“You’re not going to like it, Headmaster,” he said quietly, before turning to Harry and saying, “You can do this. Remember, _riddikulus.”_

 Harry’s hand was shaking as Lupin open the lid and his Uncle Vernon stormed out, again pulling the belt from the loops of his pants. Steely determination in his eyes, Harry raised his wand as Vernon raised the belt.

 “ _Riddikulus!”_ he yelled.

 Vernon morphed into a roast pig and Harry grinned at it, and then at Professor Lupin.

 “I did it!” he exclaimed. He felt like he had not only shone down the boggart, but his Uncle’s brutality as well.

“Great job, Harry!” Lupin affirmed.

 The Headmaster cleared his throat on the other side of the room.

“Harry, am I interpreting this correctly? Was that your Uncle Vernon Dursley about to attack you with a belt?” 

Harry chewed on his bottom lip as he mumbled, “Um, yeah.”

“You could have told me it was so terrible there,” Albus said quietly.

“I tried when I asked to stay here in the summer but it’s not that easy,” Harry muttered in return.

“I sent you back to that,” Dumbledore stated, the twinkle dimmed in his eye.

“You didn’t know,” Harry reassured, “And I’m okay.”

 “No,” Dumbledore said, “This should never have happened. You won’t go back.”

“But I thought - the blood wards -”

“No,” Dumbledore and Remus said at the same time. Dumbledore continued, “We will find other arrangements that will keep you safe from harm. I’m so very sorry, Harry. Please believe that I had no idea.”

Harry shuffled his feet, “I do, Professor Dumbledore. And, um, I want to stay with Professor Lupin. If he’ll have me, I mean.”

 “Harry, you know I have-” Remus started, to be cut off by a loud “hmmmm” from Dumbledore.

 Dumbledore clapped his hands. “I think we can work this out. Perhaps I will take custody of you legally, but for all intents and purposes, Remus will be your guardian.”

Both of their mouths fell open.

 “Yes!” Harry said, smiling at Lupin, who smiled back widely.

 “Now gentlemen, who else thinks roast pig sounds delightful for dinner tonight?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Five Weeks Later_

Snow was piling up outside the window of the old house in a small English countryside town. The inside of the house was alight with movement as the people inside exchanged Christmas gifts and laughed with one another.

Harry Potter sat on the couch in the living room, face lit up from laughter at Ron’s joke. Hermione sat next to him on the couch, cheeks flushed from the fire. Professor Lupin was across from them, smiling fierecely at their joy.

Around them on the floor was wrapping paper, belying all of the gifts they had exchanged. It was December 23rd, and they were celebrating Christmas together just a little early - the trio would spend the next two days celebrating at the Burrow.

“And then,” Ron said, “The twins were like, maybe Harry can try some of our joke products on the Professor!” He said with a grin, “But don’t worry, Professor, I told them you were cool.”

“Thank you, Ron, I appreciate that,” Remus replied.

Harry covered his face with a hand, “Of course they would want me to do that!”

Hermione warned, “You better not, Harry!”

“I won’t, I won’t,” he laughed, holding up his hands.

 Harry had felt the grip that depression had on him lessen exponentially over the last few weeks. Healing wasn’t linear; some days he still struggled to get out of bed and he had slipped into self harm a few times. But his friends, Professor Lupin, his mind-healer, and the anti-depressant potions had helped him to be here, laughing with people who care about him, and not at the bottom of the astronomy tower. He was eternally grateful.

 Abruptly interrupting Ron’s story about Percy falling down the stairs a few Christmases ago, Harry stood up.

“I think I’m ready.”

Hermione had looked at him quizzically. “For what, Harry?”

Harry looked over and met Remus’s gaze with a smile. Remus nodded at him.

“For this! Expecto patronum!” He shouted.

A beautiful stag burst from his wand. Hermione squealed in delight, and Ron yelled, “Wicked!”

Remus and Harry grinned at each other. He could finally keep the dementors - _all_ of them - at bay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Edit 27/5/2019: I’ve read all of the comments (and appreciate all of them!) and I just want to say a few things. A lot of you know that this is a pretty accurate portrayal of depression; that’s because I based it on my own experiences pretty much completely. Reading the comments, it appears like so many of you are in that dark place (or have been). Please - do seek help if you’re feeling like Harry in this story. I did - it wasn’t easy - but through medication and therapy I am so much better. I don’t take medication anymore, and things are good. Don’t be afraid to reach out to your loved ones, a school counsellor, anyone you trust. There are better days out there. I promise. 
> 
>  
> 
> I don't write very frequently so I appreciate each and every review/kudos. Thank you. :)


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